


Three Days

by iamsmall



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Forge Sex, Pre 8x02, Smut, Soft Arya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 18:58:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18629314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamsmall/pseuds/iamsmall
Summary: “Shouldn’t you be in that meeting that’s still goin’ with all the fancy folk instead of watchin’ me sweat?” he turned around and asked in a mocking tone.Her brows furrowed.“How long did you know I was here?”“Long enough,” he huffed out pouring melted metal into something, casting it might have been called. “You were quiet, I’ll give you that…”





	Three Days

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh hello gendrya fandom! I lurk but now I must post. This was beta'ed by the beautiful, patient, and supportive aliciutza! 
> 
> Y'all I love her. Her comments had me grinning ear to ear! omg so like, the fandom agreed bobby b had no game so gendry is poppin in bed.. and uhm, his dick big so this is what we are working with lessss gooooo! 
> 
> Also this was written to be posted last week before the episode so like, what is this? canon divergent? idfk bro its smut, love me pls.
> 
> Enjoy <3

**three days**

The shadows had always been a friend to Arya. They kept her out of the light, the attention, the reality that she only wished to observe. As a child, she noticed who the monsters were, and they were always people; normal people, regular people. Humans turned out to be more beast-like than her family’s wolves, and probably than the dragons that now circled the sky above her home.

She’d watched men slaughter, woman poison, people deceive, and societies come together to shame, and understood she was never meant to fit in.

The darkness was supposed to be scary, but she found comfort in its coldness. It was where she could hide and calculate her next moves.

Arya thought that perhaps, since Jon had been king, that the world would be less of a sorry game, but it wasn’t. But she was home, and not one person could tell her a thing; not how to behave or act. _Nothing_.

However, Jon wasn’t king anymore, and why Arya decided to listen her sister complain about it all morning, _again_ , had to be a consequence from the reunion with her that made her fucking soft.

Sansa waved her hands in front of Arya’s face, drawing her attention.

“I overheard you were at the forge yesterday evening,” her sister commented from her seat at the desk in the study.

Perplexed, Arya froze, wondering as to why that would matter to Sansa.

 “Are you keeping tabs on me?” Arya turned away from the parchment stating that Lord Glover would not be leaving his castle, blinking blankly.

Sansa had a keen on eye on everything at Winterfell and she was in an irritable mood, which seemed to make her sharpened senses infuriating. Arya supposed it should have been a good thing. Especially since her and her sister had something in common: little patience and an acute mind. However, it was an annoyance since all Arya foolishly wanted to do was go back to the smithy to check upon _him_.

All night she lied to herself. She thought that she would just go visit him to see if he was making her weapon right, although she knew he was.

Even if it wasn’t exactly like her vague drawing, it would probably be better.

Sansa did not respond, eyeing her with a frown.

Arya rolled her eyes, “I needed a weapon, _my lady_ ,” she said sardonically.

It was the truth. _Mostly_.

The last thing she wanted was for Sansa to snoop and act out around Gendry the way she did with the Queen.

Fancying boys was something Sansa did, not her. It was unsettling the way she could feel her cheeks tug at the sides whenever she saw his face.

She knew he would be there.

She could have gone to anyone else in the forge, or even sent someone to speak with him but she wanted to know if he would remember _her_. Or notice her with longer hair and a bit more height, _and breasts_ …

“Don’t you have enough stuff to kill people with already?”

_No._

“Not white walkers,” Arya held up her hand to stop Sansa from arguing with a protest she was probably going to hear from Jon as well.

They could both deliver it together, saving time, so Arya could _save_ her breath telling them _both_ to fuck off simultaneously. “Are you done being an _arse_?”

“No,” Sansa replied swiftly.

Arya had yet to specify and her sister still bit.

If she rolled her eyes again, she was sure they would get stuck, so she settled for pulling a chair out loud enough for it to madden Sansa, before dropping into it with a mocking smile.

“Jon wants me to speak to you-” Arya’s voice was lower, measuring how much patience they both had for the conversation.

“About?” Sansa eyes her warily.

“Not being a bitch,” Arya started. “My words, not his,” she corrected before Sansa could even open her mouth.

“You weren’t there in the Great Hall anyway-”

“It doesn’t matter. He is our brother-”

“She-”

“It does not matter. He made the decision, live with it…” Arya shut her down smoothly and with a wave of her hands. “Or fucking die… I don’t care.” _She did_.

It was a lie that she regretted as Sansa’s face fell, but Jon said that the dead were marching on them. They– the entirety of the North could be decimated if they didn’t accept help.

Arya knew she was stubborn, but she was hardly stupid.

“It’s us against everybody and you said we cannot appear divided. She is trying to help, and he trusts her. We have to support him,” Arya explained. “I’m not asking _you_ to trust her, but at least stop acting like an _arse_. You know better than me. She is a Queen.”

“I’m not acting…”

Arya let herself laugh at her sister’s sour face.

“She loves him, you know…” Arya added, looking down at her small fingers.

It was weird seeing what that emotion looked like on others. Arya pondered if her sentiments were worn as completely unabashed on her features like Jon, because surely, he didn’t know he looked like a puppy entirely smitten.

“I’m not an idiot,” Sansa said harshly.

“If you heard I was in the forge, then you must have heard that she let him ride the other dragon,” Arya commented, happy to hear that her voice contained none of her jealousy.

Sansa said nothing, her eyes lowering.

“So shut up, will you-”

“He was upset earlier…”

Arya stiffened, watching a fretting look flash over Sansa’s face.

“He looked… depressed,” her sister’s cold blue eyes held something likened to worry, as she leaned back into her chair.

“And you think it’s because of her?” Arya probed.

Sansa shrugged, “I don’t know yet.”

“Should I find out, or will you?”

“You are his favorite so…”

“Oh, don’t pout,’ Arya smiled as Sansa’s frown deepened and her eyes narrowed. They were different from Gendry’s blue even with emotion hidden in them. Sansa’s were stony and calculating no matter how Arya knew she felt. Whereas his were so cerulean, she felt as if she could drown in them.

None of her siblings, or even Gendry, had been across the Narrow Sea to see the indigo oceans and the sapphire beaches. That was what Gendry’s eyes looked like, the water she wished to soak in.

“You are all so weird,” her sister had stood up, pulling Arya from her head again. “And so annoying, and– why do you look so _bloody_ far away?”

Arya froze, looking at her sister wildly as if she had gotten caught stealing provisions from the kitchen.

“You always stare with purpose. Now you seem thousands of miles away, _seven hells_ , what is wrong with all of you–”

The door to the study opened abruptly.

They both turned to the entrance of the study where Jon rushed in, his eyes downcast.

Something _was_ off.

“There you are,” he looked at Sansa first, but smiled at Arya. It was forced. “We have a problem.”

“Another one?” Arya asked, raising the parchment from Lord Glover that she still held.

“Aye,” Jon diverted his gaze. “Jaime Lannister is here… and…”

“And?” Arya stared at her brother impatiently.

“There is no army,” Sansa stated, coming from behind the desk to Arya’s side. “Cersei lied.”

Arya was not going to pretend she was shocked as her and Sansa had already predicted such. It was just sad to see Jon look so unhappy.

“People died for that meeting… A dragon died for that meeting– I’d like it if you were there,” Jon looked to them both.

Arya loved her brother dearly but if she ended up in a room with two Lannister’s, one of lions was going to die.

Sansa glanced at her to which she returned with a shake of her head before looking apologetically back to her brother. She wanted no part in politics.

“My lady,” Arya waved her hand for her sister to do her obligations.

Sansa glared at the smug look on Arya’s face, “Are you going back to the forge?”

Arya’s face fell.

_Did she know something_?

It was not as if Arya had tried to hide that she was there. She openly flirted. Anybody could have reported back to her siblings but why Sansa would care was the question.

Jon looked confused and mouthed his bewilderment to her subtly.

“It’s too early for bitchiness… alright?” Arya grabbed her sister’s arm with a hard look.

“No such thing, but very well,” Sansa pulled her arm back before mumbling softly for her to be careful wherever she went.

She always was.

Arya glanced to her brother while he watched his sister leave with a frown before turning back to her.

“I spoke to her,” Arya walked forward to touch his arm supportively. “She understands but essentially wants the North and her brother independent, safe, and well–” Arya spoke but watched as Jon’s face grew darker.

He shook it off quickly.

“What is the matter?” Arya stepped forward, concerned.

Jon scanned her form, and her lips turned further down.

“Can we speak later?”

She halted.

He was serious, and while Jon was always grim, this was not a battle worn look or a melancholy stare. He was troubled.

Nervousness began crawling up her spine.

“I need to talk to someone, _you_ , about something… personal.”

_Oh_. Arya softened.

“Well, hurry along doing your _duties_ , and then come find me.”

She was reluctant to tell him where as she didn’t know where she would be. Perhaps harassing the Hound, or training.

_Lies_. It was all _lies_. She would go to the damn smithy.

Jon gave a sad smile before turning to follow after their sister.

Anxiety rippled through her, and she hadn’t the faintest clue where it came from.

Stepping from the study, Arya walked herself along the corridors looking for an exit farthest away from the Great Hall.

She thought she would be angrier, but she was just ready to be done with it all; the great war, the formalities, and the battle that would come, if they weren’t all dead, for the Iron Throne.

Her brother and… _Gendry_ , came back and all of a sudden, she was tuning tired and thoughtful.

She wanted fury though.

As she wandered through the halls, she thought about her list, saying it over and over again until the cool air brushed over her body.

*

Arya had sat down on one of the stools in the smithy quietly and watched him work.

She’d gone to the stables, rode into town, then returned, and went to the kitchens, and she still ended up back in the forge while whatever was happening in the Great Hall still went on.

It was none of her business _yet_ and her siblings were going to be frustrated believing that she would ever make formalities a part of her life again. Especially not when her childhood best friend was hammering away in the forge, making steel sing.

It was a far superior noise than the sound of the fucking Imp prattling about the South, Sansa about food, and Jon about the number of armies at reach when they should have been going on about battle strategy. Arya hadn’t the tolerance.

She wished she could help in the smithy though, but she knew little of anything; only what an anvil was and to stay away from the boiler.

When she had first entered the forge, she realized Gendry wore less.

The previous day he’d worn a jerkin and a doublet, now he only wore a jerkin and a tunic. They were in warm colors as well; browns and golds. Not the dirty grey rags he used to wear.

She speculated if he had gotten wealthier or if his wages were substantially larger, or if it was because he came back with her brother that he looked… well kept.

“Shouldn’t you be in that meeting that’s still goin’ with all the fancy folk instead of watchin’ me sweat?” he turned around and asked in a mocking tone.

Her brows furrowed.

“How long did you know I was here?”

“Long enough,” he huffed out pouring melted metal into something, _casting_ it might have been called. “You were quiet, I’ll give you that…”

“How did you know?” Arya sat straighter.

“You smell of warm bread, cold ass air, and leather,” he said. “Got a big whiff of it when you sat down.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Arya stood embarrassed.

“I was waitin’ for you to say somethin’,” he bit back.

Arya rolled her eyes, as did he.

“Why are you leavin’?” Gendry called as she hopped off the stool and turned away.

She heard him fumbling with something and smiled to herself. She made him nervous.

“Obviously me being here is causing you a problem,” she turned back, gesturing to the mess he made whilst attempting to gain her attention.

“I didn’t say that,” he argued with a look of exasperation firmly situated on his features. “I was just asking why you were here instead of being where all the people were rushin’ to?”

“It’s not my responsibility,” Arya explained. She was not a fucking politician.

“You’re a lady.”

Arya rolled her eyes for the hundredth time.

“Not of my choice.”

“Spoiled,” he shook his head.

“Stupid,” she snapped.

“Privileged.”

“Stubborn.”

“I’m stubborn?” Gendry laughed, pointing to himself as he took off his forging gloves. “Very well, milady.”

“And you’re filthy,” Arya added with a head tilt, motioning towards his soot covered body.

“I’m doing honest work here,” he defended, sliding arrow heads into a basket before kneeling to the dirty ground for a blade he seemed to have dropped. “You are starting to sound like a girl.”

“I am a girl, stupid!”

“You were always so concerned with seeming tough,” he peered up to her with an arch of his brow.

“Well, I was pretending to be a boy, first of all,” Arya justified, moving closer to him as he faintly commanded her to be careful near a hot tool. “Second… well, I am tough now.”

She picked up an arrow head he left out on the side of the table and tossed it into his basket.

“Still small,” he said as he stood.

Arya snorted.

“Small and can kick your arse,” she retorted smoothly, glaring into his stupid blue eyes.

They glistened and wrinkled at the edge as his lips stretched into a grin.

“Of course, milady,” he taunted.

“Shove off,” she pushed him, stepping out of the trance that seemed to bring her infinitely closer to him. “I smell like bread because I brought something, in case you may be hungry,” she pointed towards the hook that she left half a loaf hanging in a sack on.

She regretted it immediately as she watched his eyes lower.

“Right,” he nodded quickly.

“It’s not much,” Arya tried to wave off the sentiment. They were rationing now anyways.

“No, I–” he paused to look at her and then around to probably see if anybody was watching them.

Arya wasn’t sure what expression was on her face, but he forced his lips to quirk into a small smile when he glanced back to her.

“I’m due for a break,” he removed his apron, wiping his hands on it, as Arya stepped back to the stool she sat on, watching as he pulled another opposite to her.

She shoved the bag into his hands as soon as he sat.

The bread probably wasn’t warm, but it was soft. “Here.” he pulled a piece off and went to hand it to her.

“No, it’s yours,” Arya moved it back.

“Are you hungry? I can share,” his blue eyes squinted.

“I ate.” Was all she said, situating herself further to the wall.

His proximity was making her chest sore and she couldn’t understand why. He wasn’t harming her. They seemed fine and he was nice and comfortable, but every time he moved close, a weight settled.

“I didn’t ask that. I asked if you were still hungry,” his voice was deeper; stern, but his brow was arched, almost waiting for the quarrel that he knew she would start.

“You don’t have to take care of me anymore. I’m not a child.”

Her mouth dried at the intensity of his gaze.

His eyes discretely looked her up and down, before he said, “I am aware.”

He ripped some of bread that he offered her a part of and placed a bit past his lips.

His jaw clenched an unclenched with every piece he put in his mouth, and his throat seemed to bop harshly every time he swallowed.

Drawing her eyes away from him, she reached for the loaf and ripped off a section, making a face at him, and it was worth it because he grinned.

“If you throw that shit at me, it’ll be a waste of food,” he pointed a finger at her, stopping the raise of her hand, ready to chuck whatever was in her palms at him.

Sustenance was a problem, so Arya simpered down.

“Davos came in and told me the Wall was breached,” Gendry commented, his bites slowing down.

“I heard,” Arya remarked calmly.

“Are you ready?” his eyes looked everywhere beside her own, so she placed a hand on his knee, drawing his attention back to her.

“I will be when my weapon is finished,” she said cheekily.

Gendry blinked rapidly, eyeing her fingers on his leg and her mischievous eyes.

Arya caught him about to smile again, until he shook it off. “Sorry, I will– it will be done soon, it’s just–”

Pulling back, she said softly “I know, I trust you.”

Gendry met her stare, both confused and stunned.

“After all this time?”

*

Arya had left as soon as people started leaving the Great Hall and the commotion picked up once again.

It was shocking how bothered she had been when she realized that it was getting late and that she should probably stop watching him.

She had been momentarily happy teasing and watching him burn himself every time she let something bold slip past her tongue.

Exasperation rolled off of him in the most humorous ways because he probably should have been paying more attention to the molds and banging away at the steel, but instead, kept glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes. Arya was sure he was showing off when he made multiple weapons within the hour. And she was absolutely certain he was aware of her stare when he rolled up his sleeves or lifted the bottom of his tunic to wipe the sweat from his face, showing the patch of coarse hair that trailed and disappeared beyond his breeches.

She was thoroughly frustrated at the interruption when people began walking through the forge demanding things with no respect.

He had to literally step in front of her as one Northern man had gotten blatantly disrespectful when one of the Unsullied soldiers came in for their platoon’s spears.

If Arya had thought her day couldn’t have gotten worse, she had walked into an awkward chamber with Ser Jorah Mormont, Sansa, Jon, Samwell Tarly, and the Queen.

She didn’t care what was going on in that room, only nodded in respect stating that her brother asked for a word.

His eyes were relieved as he ducked out.

By the time they left the Godswood, Arya understood why the study had been so stale and she was extremely happy to not only not be in it, but to save Jon from it. He was distraught and it took hours for her to convince him that everything needed to happen this way, because they were finally home and together.

It had hurt to say the words, to watch him suffer, and then to watch him pretend to not be suffering in order to attend his duties.

Arya hated it. She always despised this false sense of responsibility, and while she respected her father for having it, and teaching it to them, it was moments like Jon taking in a deep breath and having to walk away from his emotions to do what was “right” instead of what made him feel better that made her happy she left Westeros.

*

She shouldn’t have been there. It was too late at night and if Sansa had already been suspicious of her whereabouts, if she found out what Arya was doing now, Arya would definitely be interrogated.

She wouldn’t get the truth unless Arya wanted her to, of course, but her sister would still try.

Arya peeked into the smithy seeing Gendry still working. She waited until he stopped casting to whistle for his attention.

He hesitated, looking around.

Arya repeated the sound twice more until he looked in her direction.

Beckoning him forward, Arya stepped out of the shadows and whispered if she could speak to him.

His eyes squinted through the smoky room.

“It’s fuckin’ late,” he spoke quietly. “What are you still doing up?”

She said nothing, waiting for him to grasp that she was not fooling around.

“Alright,” he sighed, nodding tentatively, once again removing all his of his dirty outerwear.

“Grab a cloak,” Arya added.

He eyed her warily, before taking his light furs and wrapping it around his shoulders.

Arya grabbed his arm and pulled him along before the next guard that was stationed started his rounds.

“Where are we–”

She shushed him, dragging him towards the back of the castle, and then inside from a rear entrance.

“Arya–”

It was a dark corridor that winded through dimmer corridors that made Winterfell look far creepier than it actually was. However, Arya knew she would get caught by her brother’s guards going around and she didn’t feel like explaining why it was no one’s business what she was doing.

The family solar was about three flights up.

“This is a terrible idea.”

Arya paused.

“What’s wrong with you?” Gendry finally stopped her before she made it past one step.

She was ready to snap at him when his stupid eyes looked heavy with concern.

“I can’t talk out here…” she said under her breath, pleading. “Just follow me.”

Sighing, Gendry took cautious steps after her until he froze in front of the royal chambers

“I _can’t_ go in there.”

“Why not?” she grew aggravated.

“This is not– this is the family solar, isn’t it?”

“And? I’m family,” she stated, dismissively. “And you’re my family… aren’t you?”

Sadness ghosted his features while he scanned the area.

The guards were not going to come back for a few. She and Sansa periodically changed the rotation schedule to accommodate their paranoia.

“You’re going to get me killed,” Gendry stated plainly.

It was a justified fear, but Arya smiled sadly, nonetheless.

“I won’t let anybody touch you,” she said confidently, opening the door.

“You’re protectin’ me now?” he murmured as she walked through the private quarters, guiding him to her chamber.

“Well, you are the one concerned, so I suppose so.”

“How the tables have turned–” he halted as he entered her room, probably because she did as well. Now that she finally got him in there, she hadn’t the faintest clue what to do, how to bring up what she wanted, nor how to act.

“What’s wrong?” He seemed to keep asking her that question and she didn’t know if it was that he probably barely knew her any longer or if he knew her so well, that he was being overly hesitant knowing that if he pushed too hard, she would just turn away.

“There is water over there, if you want to, uhm, I don’t know…” Arya pointed to a basin on her table that she used to wash her hands and face before bed.

He walked over to it, passing her, and dipped his fingers in, probably to test the temperature _since he was a soft southern boy with delicate tendencies._ He had explained that there was regular cold water, and Northern fucking liquid that should never be touched.

Looking over his shoulder towards her, he gave a quick quirk of his lips that sent fluttery feelings down her stomach.

_He is so stupid._

Silence followed after the quick splashes of his hands.

He sat down, uncomfortably, on the edge of the bed since there was no chair and just observed her pacing around. Arya felt his gaze penetrating every wall she built up with such precision she wanted to scream.

“What’s wrong?” It was the third time he asked it and it was sheer unease. Probably because she turned her back to him. “You pulled me to your chambers to talk, only we aren’t talkin’?”

She thought he stood up, but when she turned back to him, his head was tilted to the side with gleams of puzzlement.

_Arse._

“Jon is my cousin.”

“Pardon?” The lines on his forehead crinkled further.

“My father is his uncle, and my aunt is his mother, and his woman is his aunt because his father is Rhaegar Targaryen,” Arya explained plainly, almost smiling when his perplexity deepened. It was a lot for her to take in earlier as well.

“And we– me, Sansa, Bran, and all of my other deceased brothers that he thought were his siblings, are actually his cousins. Our father lied to protect him…”

A few heart beats passed before Gendry exhaled loudly, bringing his hands to his face to rub away all flickers of confusion, shock, and discomfort. He knew he shouldn’t know this, and he was right, her bluntness could very much get him killed.

Arya was unsure if even the Queen’s Hand knew.

“He’s not alright with that… is he?”

Arya made a face. “Of course not, _stupid_ … Sting of betrayal, lies, and guilt.”

“Guilt for what?” Gendry’s lips turned into a thin line as Arya toed her way closer subconsciously.

“Imagine being told that your birth caused wars, and your identity might’ve saved everybody you loved. And your closest mate wants you to take a throne because he feels you’ll be a better leader than the woman you love…”

Gendry’s mouth formed an ‘O’ the more Arya elaborated.

Raising his hand to the back of his neck, he rubbed the back of his throat while he glanced to the side. “She saved his life. So many lives beyond the wall…”

“You were there?” Arya kicked his foot with her own, calling for his attention back.

“I didn’t get to ride the dragon like the others though…” his stupid lips slowly turned upwards.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Arya started, hesitantly. “Not now, but sometime in the future. I haven’t the mind to process that and the fact that my brother is my cousin who is actually the legitimate heir to the Iron Throne at the same time.”

“Can’t bond over being bastards anymore, can we?” Gendry joked, lightening the tension rolling off her in rapid waves.

“Is that all you talked about?” she snorted, feeling her cheeks tug.

“The Queen was around often, so we talked about impossible women–”

“Oh,” Arya looked away. Gendry was comely. She thought he could have had loads of girls.

He was strong and determined. Still stupid and stubborn as a bull, but nonetheless handsome and honorable.

“Stubborn women, mocking women, angry women, small women…”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Honestly, neither of you are very big so I don’t know why you would even-”

“Still bigger than you,” he kept fucking reminding her.

She gritted her teeth, cursing herself for letting him get to her, because his eyes were twinkling.

“Not. By. Much.” _And_ everyone was bigger than her anyway.

“He wouldn’t shut up about how excited he was to see you, and that’s when I found out you were still alive,” he smiled, and it was pure and bashful.

Arya hated herself for allowing a grin on her face. “I can’t believe you thought I would die.”

Gendry held up his fingers, motioning a pinch. “Small person, big world, full of bigger men,” he whispered, and she shoved him again.

When he fell back on to her bed laughing, she felt her chest constrict as his laughter echoed around the room.

Sansa used to read books about romance and never stoped talking about the moment when all noise drowned from a girl’s ears and all she could see is the man in front of her.

Arya was nearly horrified at the fact that those tales were actually real.

She waited for her small smile to fall, but Gendry clutched his stomach with labored breaths.

“I saw you riding up to the castle in Winter’s Town… you and the fucking Hound,” she commented between his gasps for breaths.

“Nice to know that your language has gotten impossibly worse.” All Gendry’s teeth showed in his chortle. “He said something about how you left him to die yesterday…” His smile wasn’t completely gone, but it wasn’t as bright.

The mention of Clegane could do that to any person.

“Yeah, well... He’s a cunt. I’ll tell you about it someday.”

“Where did you go after him?” Gendry probed.

“And I’ll tell you about that the day after…”

His eyes were dim and layered with passion, and Arya knew hers to be soft. They held each other’s stare until their breathing grew heavier and louder, and remained the only thing they heard.

Words failed her, but she had never been much of a grand speaker.

Arya didn’t want to waste her time attempting to explain impossible stories that didn’t mean much in the moment, so she just bit her lip.

“Anything else you would like to tell me about now, milady?”

“Yes, stop calling me that, stupid!” she hit him lightly, throwing him an obscene gesture to which he returned with a look of impress and a fake wince.

“That didn’t even hurt,” she returned snidely at his overexaggerating.

“How are you going to tell me what hurts and what doesn’t?”

“I didn’t hit you that hard.”

“And you can hit harder?”

“Are you trying to find out?” Arya’s stare darkened and he didn’t seem the slightest bit intimidated.

“No, milady,” he mocked innocently, and Arya lunged. She got in a few good jabs before he positioned his legs so she couldn’t knee him in the balls and got ahold of her hand before she could do any more damage.

“I know that one hurt,” she started as his palms restrained her arms together at her front. She was nearly in his lap, and she was certain she could hear his heart beating now as well.

His irises went unfathomably darker after she relaxed into his hold.

“Th-Thanks,” he cleared his throat, loosening his grip. “For still trustin’ me.”

Arya didn’t move, and the worse part for her, was that she didn’t want to.

“Why wouldn’t I trust you?” she asked delicately, baffled.

“I didn’t know what would happen when you saw me… If you’d hate me, hit me, remember me, or even still care… It’s been years,” he admitted, his eyes glistening.

“I’m upset with you, but we haven’t the time,” Arya sighed, finally moving back to her feet, watching what she thought to be disappointment flash on his features.

Clearing is throat, “No–”

“I missed you,” she interrupted him abruptly.

He perked up, smirking a bit.

She wanted to roll her eyes again but thought against it, not wishing to ruin the moment.

He held his hand out to her and she immediately walked towards it and took it.

“Everything will be,” he paused with a hum, stroking her smooth hand with his rough fingers. “Fine… hopefully.”

“You’re a terrible optimist,” Arya laughed but at least he was optimistic because she wasn’t in the least.

“Well life was pretty shit until I met you.”

She knew she flushed and that it was his goal.

*

Arya strode through the smithy, stress journeying down her spine.

She pulled Gendry out from his corner and deeper into a dark space while he struggled against her.

“Oh, hello,” he must have gotten a good look of her face. She knew it was probably feral. “I-I-, What happened now?”

Arya looked him up and down, noticing that he completely abandoned the jerkin and was just in a dirty tunic.

With a quick glance backwards to make sure nobody could see them, she pushed him further into the shadows and went to the tips of her toes to reach his ears.

“The Night King was at Last Hearth, Tormund just arrived and told us that battle will probably start at dawn. Ser Davos said he would come here to warn everyone in a bit, but I wanted you to know first. It’s about to be complete chaos.”

She went back to the balls of her feet and took in the complete wildness that graced his face.

His jaw clenched and his eyes went hard. She could see him twitch but Arya didn’t think it was nerves. He might’ve been ready to be over with it, just like her.

“Thank you–” he nodded stiffly and when Arya felt he completely comprehended her words, she turned away to go back to her brothers and sister. “Wait,” Gendry grabbed her arm, right as she stepped knack into the firelit smithy. “Where are you going?”

“Final battle plans,” she responded swiftly. Ser Davos might bring him to the war room later, as both Jon’s advisor and Jon himself, trusted Gendry, however, for now, Jon needed to solidify his plan and Arya had no patience for patronization toward Jon from anybody that was not her.

He released her arm but before she could get far, he called her again, and she fucking froze.

When she turned a round, she took a deep breath before glancing into his dumb blue eyes.

Confliction was all over his face.

His body was coiled tightly, and he kept opening his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

“Don’t you start,” Arya warned. She had already argued with both Jon and Sansa too much for the evening.

There was no fleeing south or looking for coverage. She was going to defend their home and that was it.

“No, just– come back.”

He seemed insecure with the demand, but little did he know, she couldn’t stay away from him even if she tried.

“I’ll be back tonight when things have settled,” she took a slow step forward and did something she had never done before; gently place her lips upon his scruffy cheek.

*

“Everybody, get out!” Arya commanded as soon as she stepped into the forge.

Snapping up from his station, Gendry motioned for the man across from him to pass him what he was working on, indicating him to exit.

Gendry didn’t even make a move to follow her request and Arya could laugh. Everybody was afraid of her except him and her siblings.

“My lady–” one of the blacksmiths waltzed in front of her, blocking her view.

“Everything we have now is all that we will have,” she interrupted him. “You lot, out!” Arya pointed in the far corner and spoke louder.

“You should listen to her,” Gendry drawled, his back towards the man that didn’t move from in front of her. “Her brothers were kings…”

The man glanced between them with a look of affront and veered away.

As the forge emptied out, Gendry began ridding himself of his working clothes, wiping his hands clean on some old rag before moving towards a basin with chilly water.

Arya watched him shift weapons to the front of the smithy and raise fires to combat the air that was getting impossibly colder.

He glanced at her a few times, probably because her hair was down from the braided bun she adorned earlier. She knew she probably looked more like a girl but honestly, she had just been trying to relieve a tension headache

She called his name, but he ignored her, his back turned to her as he made a ridiculous amount of noise filling barrels with arrows, that he once again, moved to the front of the smithy for collection.

“Gendry!” She reached for him as he went to pass her, turning him around.

His eyes were solemn.

Jon had said that they had until dawn, _minimum_ , but it was so bloody dark outside, they could hardly tell when that could be.

Taking a step closer to him, Arya could feel the heat radiating off his body and wondered why he turned the fire up.

“You make me feel things,” she started, her voice strangled. “And I’d like you to… _not_.”

After a few moments, his grave stare split and from it came a timid smile. “What kinds of things, milady?”

“You are very important to me,” Arya stated, hoping that her speech remained strong because his gaze began its endeavor of breaking down her barriers again.

“You as well, milady.”

“Will you stop?” Arya nearly whined, and his lips pulled into a proper beam.

“Are you scared?”

“Not for the reasons you probably think. I’ve seen death and I promise you… I am not scared of that.”

“So, what are you afraid of?” he questioned her as if he didn’t already know the answer.

Arya pulled away from him, her feet taking her tiny steps away from his body.

“I just gave my brother a speech about how much it would bother me if he died after us not seeing each other for years. So, I will tell you the same. Please do not die tomorrow.”

Her façade was impeccable in that moment. She knew that none of her fears or reservations shined through.

“Would you mourn for me?” he asked, and he was so serious that her mask fell.

“I’m not playing, Gendry,” she cracked.

He gave a humorless chuckle as his eyes glanced around the forge.

Turning away, he began walking towards the back.

“Come here,” Gendry beckoned her forward when he realized she hadn’t moved to follow.

He titled his head and held out his hand for her. She strolled to it and this time, they went further back and into a small area that was sectioned off by a tarp.

“Is this where you’ve been sleeping?” Arya frowned when she noticed a cot and his brown doublet hanging on a hook. There were also other remnants of his, like a traveling trunk and his leather jerkin laying on a chair.

“I haven’t really left the forge… too much work to do,” he said, crouched, reaching for something from under a shelf. “I’m fine. It pulls out a bit bigger,” he added when he glanced back to see the look of anger that was undoubtedly all over her face.

Clearing his throat, “Sorry it took longer,” he stood, handing her a box. His hand flew to the back of his head, where he rubbed in sheepishness. “You didn’t really have dimensions.”

Arya took the package and sat down on the small bed, where she removed the lid to see her spear.

“Where’d you learn to fight with that? I thought swords were your thing,” Gendry asked but paused when she gave him a strong look and stood. “Right, one day you’ll tell me,” he nodded.

He was towering over her, carefully assessing her reaction to what he made her, so she amended and gave an easy gaze. Their bodies were inches apart and the shallow breaths he was taking were the only things her ears could pick up.

What if they didn’t have one day?

He liked her; she was positive.

Arya placed the box on the counter that stood in front of the tarp, before lifting to her toes to place a subdued kiss on his lips.

She had never kissed a boy truly, and she had no clue what to do but his lips were so supple and his hands were warm as he reached to caress the sides of her face.

_He_ knew what he was doing, because heat traveled up her spine as his left palm trailed down her neck to her waist, bring herself impossibly closer to him.

She could hardly breathe, _no_ , she hardly wanted to inhale anything that wasn’t his smell.

Raising her arms to wrap around his neck, she gave herself the purchase she needed to lean further into his embrace– into his smell of soot, musk, and a roaring fire.

His hands were firm as they pursued lower, stroking every inch of her until she let out a moan.

Awareness must have poured over him like ice water, because he halted like a frightened doe. He seemed to remember who he was, who they were, and what was going to happen come morning.

Unwrapping her arms from his neck with pink cheeks and a shortage of breath, his gaze became heavy and apologetic. “We shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” her breathing felt restricted as she blinked, not understanding. His heart had been pounding rapidly, and he kept glancing at her the way she saw other men gape at women they wanted to make theirs. “Do you not– did I misread?”

“No, I-I- You’re royal, Arya,” he said, pained, and backing away.

“We don’t have time for all of that,” she nearly screamed at him. “Do you want me or not?” her voice was severe.

“Patient and civil was never what you were, was it?” he attempted to deflect as the ferocity in her eyes blazed.

“I was being polite when I stopped, and now I am waiting for your consent,” she stated.

“Arya–”

“Do you want me or not? It is a yes or no question.”

She couldn’t help the saliva that got stuck in her throat, for the first time in a long time, she was scared of an answer.

It would be so easy for him to lie and say that he didn’t desire her, and she would walk away because it wouldn’t be the truth. He knew that. He did know her, even after all these years.

She had always been short tempered, and she was not only embarrassed, but angry, annoyed, and frustrated.

“You make it sound so simple,” he shook his head, his lips pressed together as he shifted on his feet.

“Because it is.”

“It isn’t. you’re supposed to marry some fancy lord…” Arya looked around and threw the closest object she could reach at him, which turned out to be his jerkin.

He winced, fumbling the catch of the heavy material.

“Does that even sound like me?” she disputed. “It was never who I was, not who I am, and won’t be who I will be. Do you want me or not?”

Her look was crystal and his was torn as he swallowed back what she deemed to be anxiety and indecision.

“What do you want?”

_Him._

“For you to shut up and stop being an idiot,” she gritted her teeth, turning away to retrieve the box that he gave her so she could leave.

She reached for the lid she tossed aside to close the case when she felt hands settle on her hips and turn her around.

With a fervent gaze, he reached his palm out to stroke her cheek, then her lips, and then rose to thumb her thick brows.

“What are you doing?” she stood straighter as his other hand smoothed over her spine.

“Shuttin’ up…”

His eyes were dark, so dark that Arya took a step back. He followed, cornering her between the high table and the cot.

He kept moving until her shoulders slammed into the wall of the smithy.

With hands flailing to grip anything for steadiness, Arya knocked over a burning candle and the room become dimmer. They were nothing but shadows.

A distinct heat was prevalent in his cerulean stare that Arya would have never thought could ever be directed towards her.

She was aware she was never the conventional beauty, but he seemed to hold none of those standards with his irises glazed over in sharp lust.

Her breathing was coming in short pants as he lowered his head into her neck where he inhaled and probably smelled winter roses and leather.

All Arya could feel was his lips peppering kisses up to her jaw before he smoothed his mouth over hers.

She had been sweet before, but he was not as temperate. His lips moved roughly and full of breath quickening passion that felt like it had been building for years, forcing her to grip his loose tunic, pulling him so close that she could feel the hard muscles on his stomach against her.

He reciprocated the sentiment lifting her off the ground, sandwiching her between his form and the wall.

She had nowhere to go, not that she wanted to be anywhere else.

As Arya opened her mouth to take in a quick breath, he caught her bottom lip between his teeth and nipped until she was no longer able to hold back a groan.

_Gods help her._ His tongue was begging for access, and when she granted, they fought for control.

He won.

“Have you done this before?” she gasped as his hands flew to her stomach looking for laces to pull.

She didn’t actually want to know the answer she realized when it was too late, but of course, he knew that.

“What are we doin’?” his voice was husky and full of his Southern accent while she could feel his mouth pull into a smile against her cheek.

His hands slowed their pace and went from being rugged to tender, playing with the button on her overcoat while her fingers skidded the trim on his tunic.

Slipping past the shirt, Arya touched around the hard planes of his abdominals, feeling his chest move with the rapid speed of his heart.

“Go back to shutting up…”

Their mouths crashed back together in a mess of frenzied hunger as a low growl emitted from his throat. With clashing teeth, Arya could feel the keenness bubbling beneath his composed exterior.

She didn’t know what they were doing... Well, she did. Arya knew exactly what they were doing but didn’t want to say it incase her bluntness frightened him.

She lifted the tunic off of him and swallowed as he unclipped the fur at her chest.

Searching her eyes for any sense of trepidation, Gendry let her down onto wobbly legs.

Dizziness struck her as his hands teased at her vest.

He leaned down to kiss her, and she seemed to inhale him, grabbing at his shoulders to pull him down, or herself up, she wasn’t sure. They reversed roles, because he was being sensitive, and she just wanted him to grab her.

“ _Gendry_ ,” she groaned against him. “I’m not going to bloody break or panic.”

He grabbed her face and examined her again, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Arya nodded.

“Here?” he waved his hand around, focusing on the cot with a single pillow.

She supposed she could have dragged him back to her chambers, but she doubted Jon was asleep, and she wanted to give Gendry no time to back out.

They had slept on grass and dirt together; traveled with minimal bath time and were forced to smell each other on their worst days. She really didn’t care; she wasn’t a damn princess.

Arya nodded with a small smirk. _“No feather beds for me.”_

It was all Gendry needed because he hauled her around and pushed her against the wall with his hips.

His arousal shot a stream of heat straight to her core, and the low groan that emitted from him as she pressed back made her mouth dry.

Breathless, Arya held on to the edge of the counter, as he started untying the laces in the back of her vest after noticing that they weren’t secured in the front.

After, he kneeled and slid her boots off. He kicked them under the cot as his hands trailed up her breeches to her sides as his lips touched her cheek kindly. He spun her back around and loosened her vest until it fell off, taking her weapons belt with it with a clink.

In nothing but her tunic and pants, Arya reached for his face again as he pushed off his boots and lifted her back up for better contact to her lips.

When she wrapped her legs around him, she could feel him straining against his bottoms and gulped as he grinded into her. She returned, moving her hips with him, feeling him catch his breath and moan her name.

It was the finest sound.

All the stories she heard growing up surrounded by unfamiliar men had never been appealing, but with Gendry’s arms secured around her waist and his hardness pressed between her legs, she realized she might have misjudged.

He reached for her tunic and lifted it over her head.

It was not the slight chill in the air that made her shiver, but the weight of his stare.

Arya had never grown massive breasts, but what she did have, had been significantly pushed down and hidden from when she started her moonblood, so he probably never noticed. Even her vests hid the true size of them now, so when he gaped, she couldn’t help but cover them. It was all she ever did.

He didn’t uncover them, only murmured, “If you don’t want me to look then I won’t but I’d like to. They’re beaut– good. _Gods_ , I can make you feel good.”

Wetness pooled between her legs as she allowed his palms to move her arms away. His lips went back to hers, and she pushed her tongue past his teeth, massaging it over his.

She bit back a whine when his finger ran along her left nipple, and groaned when his hands cupped her. She felt the buds tighten against his ministrations and a noise got caught in her throat as his mouth moved to her neck.

He traced circles and unknown figures with his tongue until she squirmed with impatience.

His lips traveled lower, and lower, and lower until his teeth grazed along a peak. Her head fell back.

The noises she was making were completely unfamiliar to her, but it heartened him.

With harsh breaths, Arya reached to untie his breeches.

When they were loose, her fingers found the patch of coarse hair and followed until she was met with the soft velvety skin of his cock.

Gendry choked out a moan as she began to stroke him.

_“Arya.”_

She hummed against him as her thumb passed over the bead of wetness pooling over his tip.

_“Arya,”_ he gasped.

She loved her name coming from him, especially with his face flushed and full of desire.

His mouth came back up to hers, pressing his lips against hers greedily, his hands coming around to cup her arse.

He carried her effortlessly as he bent over only slightly to pull out the cot and lay her on it.

It was springy and uncomfortable, and would definitely make a noise, and to that she smiled into him.

“What are you grinning at, milady?” Her eyes opened to see his curious ones entirely amused.

She shook her head, giggling. At any other point in her life, she would have hated that noise. However, looking at the look of complete adoration on his face, she couldn’t allow herself to mind.

Swallowing, her gaze fell down from his eyes to see the contours of his chest in the glowing light, and then to the weeping tip of his cock peeking out of his breeches.

Arya didn’t realize that he had been absently stroking at her stomach until he spoke.

“Where’d you get this?” his voice was quiet and full of a muted rage.

She looked down to where his palm was to find her scar.

“I promise that the person who did this to me got worse,” she said, watching his thumb not leave that area.

A deep strain filled the back of the smithy as a slew of feelings skirted across Gendry’s face.

If anybody told Arya that she was impatient to her face after tonight, she would slap them because it felt like forever until he started at the laces of her trousers.

“Do you have anymore?” he asked in a tense tone.

“Find out.”

Dull nails moved across her hips as she lifted them off the cot for him to remove both her trousers small clothes. He pulled at her wool socks as he got to her feet, kissing the inside of her ankles up to her thighs.

Arya waited for him to stop, but he only situated his face deeper into her legs.

“You smell so fuckin’ good.”

The only scent she found was arousal, so she assumed that was what he was referring to.

“ _Seven hells_ ,” Gendry’s voice pitched. Arya peered down when she felt his thumb glide over her folds. “You’re so fucking wet.”

_“Fuck.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Swallowing back the saliva pooling in her mouth from the way he appraised her devotedly, she supposed she was.

Gently, Gendry pulled his finger away, and right as Arya was going to protest, his lips touched a kiss to her soaking slit.

“What are you-” she was breathless as her hands flew to the back of her head, ready to pull him up.

“I said I can make you feel good, didn’t I?”

Arya must have looked stupid, because he gave a chuckle and yanked her forward until her head crashed onto the cushion.

Gendry pecked open mouthed kisses around her inner thighs until he came center again.

Whimpers echoed off the walls as his tongue smoothed its way inside of her, flittering across her folds. Sweet sounds coupled with her moans as Gendry sucked and nipped at her.

Her fingers clawed at his nape as she rolled against him, wanting, _no_ , needing to feel more of his warm tongue rotating against her.

Encouraged, his hands tightened around her hips, making her mind hazy with lust as a coiling began in her stomach.

One of his palms flattened against her lower belly, which let off a chain of events; her thighs tightened around his head, she jerked, the pressure at her core snapped, she yelled his name, and he smiled into her while licking up the juices that came out of her as she arched her back.

With her body in natural shock, Gendry released his grip on her legs and watched her come down, reaching to touch her warm cheeks.

Arya felt like her body was vibrating.

Gendry asked if she was well, and all she could do was hum an approval. She was splendid now, despite the greater circumstance.

He sat back after caressing her face, which made Arya groan and sit up.

“I’m just givin’ you a moment,” he raised his hands in defense.

Rolling her eyes, she pulled him back on top of her, positioning him firmly between her legs before she flipped them over.

Gyrating her hips to tease him, she felt a tremor crash over her body.

Because she was shocked by it, he laughed, sitting up to kiss her.

Arya pushed him back down with only a light glare, and moved her lips down his neck, mimicking what he did to her earlier. Her hands explored the area of his chest, her nails scraping past his nipple which awarded her with a mouthwatering hiss.

Finding the waistband of his woolen breaches, she pulled them off for her to see his member standing boldly against a patch of dark curls. He was thick and long, throbbing from root to tip.

Though the room was dim, she could see his flushed head dripping with need, but Arya’s heart was caught in her throat, wondering how much of him could fit in her.

“We’ll go slow,” he reached to her, she supposed after watching her stare with wide eyes.

Swallowing, she nodded back reaching for his length, but he stopped her whispering that he didn’t want this to be over before they even started.

He had her on her back before she could even argue.

“Put your hands here,” Gendry lifted her palms to his shoulder, “And push up if it gets to be too much.”

Her eyes must have glossed over because he kissed her eyebrows as his hands slipped between them to position him at her entrance.

Arya wondered how much it was going to hurt in comparison to being slapped, shoved, and stabbed.

“Relax,” he urged her as he pushed in. “If you don’t relax, I won’t be able to move in further.”

Taking a deep breath, she felt herself fill, and even when she thought that he couldn’t move anymore, a sharp sting shot up her core and she gasped at the intrusion.

Gendry groaned as he settled inside of her. “Breathe,” he husked.

It was a different type of hurt. It was both far better, and far worse at the same time. She wanted this pain, her body ached for it, and still it felt like an invasion.

Arya did as he said, while he waited for her to adjust to size.

She felt his muscles straining against the want to thrust, but he kept still, touching her hair away from her face, and kissing the sides of her cheek and her watery eyes.

She wasn’t crying, but somehow her body reacted to the discomfort the same way she automatically squinted when the sun was too bright in her eyes.

“I’m going to move,” he finally whispered.

Arya nodded and laced her legs around his back.

After the first few, his thrusts became strong, and Arya understood the pleasure aspect.

Kneading her heels into his back, she didn’t allow him to pull all the way out to slam into her, finding that she enjoyed the heat from his mouth on her neck, his fingers curled into her sides, and the pressure of his massive weight over her.

A low noise rumbled from the depths of his throat and she could feel her insides warming up again. She was completely powerless to the force if his hips, and she only urged him harder.

With the bed creaking, she could feel his hesitation, but she curved into him, wanting, desiring him, deeper.

The sounds of skin on skin, and his sounds of pleasure where driving her mad. Her arousal coated him and her inner thighs as her nails began scraping along his back, encouraging him to move faster. She felt bliss well up in her body. She tugged at his head, her tongue immediately seeking his and tasting her essence. It sent her into a haze. As his hips began to pound into her, he reached down and parted her sensitive flesh, and stroked around until he felt her moan into his mouth and curl further around him.

She said his name in an unrecognizable drawl that made him snap into her, over, and over, and over again, building a tower of pleasure that kept her wondering how he would ever bring her down. And then he whispered that he loved her, and that he always loved her, and that he never stopped thinking about her, and it was soft, and she wanted to hate it, but a wave or pure ecstasy stormed over her.

“Look at me,” he uttered.

His pupils were blown out and masked with sheer yearning.

Arya arched her back and let her body tremble into his as his thrust became shallow. She knew he was about to break when his grip on her side got so tight it hurt and he grunted, pulling out abruptly.

He apologized into her throat as his seed spilled all over her stomach.

Disappointment struck because she wanted to feel him fill her with him at least once, just in case, but she also understood.

Licking at her bottom lip, she tried to quell her rapid heartbeat as she moved her fingers to touch the sticky white substance.

“My apologies,” his words were a rush again. He leaned over her body to grab the tunic she threw off him to wipe off his mess, but she slapped him away.

“Arya–”

“You could’ve,” she said, turning her eyes to read his expression.

His furrowed brows slowly raised before he gave a throaty laugh, coercing her hands away to wipe at her abdomen.

“I wouldn’t have gotten angry.”

She wondered what he tasted like too, but before she could raise her fingers to her lips, he wiped himself from her hands as well.

A pout probably formed on her lips.

“You really want me dead, don’t you?” he put a quick kiss on her lips, throwing his shirt to the side and reaching for linens, a fur, and his small cloths.

“Where are you going?” Arya questioned him as he began to lift himself from the cot after placing the sheets over her body.

“Stoke the fires. It’ll get cold.”

She grasped his arm, pulling him back down to her, feeling uncharacteristically clingy.

“I can keep you warm.”

Allowing himself to be tugged towards her, he enveloped her lips and kissed her languidly and full of affection.

“I love you too, stupid.”

Whatever waited for them tomorrow would be in for one hell of a fight, because for the first time in a long time, Arya felt protective over more than just her wrath.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe we made it this far as a fandom omg I never thought what happened last week would truly happen. I am still in shock that they gave it to us, bless maisie and joe!
> 
> anywayssss  
> SO like.... since we agreed on tumblr that gendry was slangin', i wasn't trying to make homegirl ride on her first go because impaling a MASSIVE cock cant be fun so that was veto'ed. She has battle in the morning, she can't limp that much. i hope you guys don't hate me for it. 
> 
> I hope we survive tonight omg Happy GOT Day -enters prayer circle-
> 
> Comment, kudos, hugs and kisses.  
> Tell me what your fav part was or just say "Hey you, this didn't completely suck, thx" and i'll be satisfied. Love yall and thank you to my sweet baby Alice again for reading this over. <333


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